Too Fast For Love
by Sanity's-overrated
Summary: 5-1 Five times Sherlock and Lestrade had sex somewhere other than a bed and the one time they did it in a bed *for BBC Sherlock Kink Meme*
1. Desk

A/N: I am in love with this pairing, unfortunately there is not nearly enough Sherstrade, I intend to remedy that. I was actually scrolling through the kink meme and stumbled upon this prompt, it was too good to pass up. I have never really tried to fill one of these prompts, I filled one for XMFC but that's it.

for a prompt at BBC Sherlock Kink Meme

Five times Sherlock and Lestrade had sex somewhere other than a bed (too desperate, too busy so they had to be creative, Sherlock's bed is a death trap, or whatever), and the first time they were in bed.

http:/ sherlockbbc - fic . livejournal . com/ 14213 . html ? thread =76208261 # t76208261

This will be broken up into chapters (6 parts in all) , I still have school stuff, but I will try to update quickly

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><p><strong>1. Desk<strong>

A long drawn whine emanates from Sherlock's mouth as the hands on his hips tighten their grip. There's a warm mouth at the base of his neck placing feathery kisses to the dampened skin. Teeth lightly nip at his neck, just prior to a tongue swiping over the marks to soothe the irritated flesh.

The pace hastens and Sherlock grips the edge of the desk tighter as his hips rut against the side paneling. He's close; he can feel his release beginning to build at the base of his spine.

A work roughened hand reaches around to grip him, just as the thrust change their angle, deeper, each hip snap hitting his prostate. It only takes a few simple strokes before Sherlock is cumming, his whole body going into spasms as he rocks into the hand in front of him, a broken cry falling from his lips.

Spent, Sherlock slumps over the desk, taking a few moments to simply breathe and try to get back under control.

There's two more thrust followed by a choked of cry of pleasure as Sherlock feels himself being filled. Several lazy kisses are pressed along his back, warm lips moving upwards, traveling along his neck until the mouth is level with his left ear.

"Next time you come to visit me during lunch, try and wear something a little less teasing, if you have it in you."

Sherlock smiles softly before replying slyly "I thought I already did Inspector."

"Cheeky," Lestrade murmurs placing a soft kiss to Sherlock's temple as he cards his hand through sweat dampened curls.


	2. Chair

**2. Chair**

When Lestrade sat down to watch the football results on the news that night, he never expected to end up with a lap full of consulting detective. However, that's exactly were he finds himself at the moment.

Long legs on either side of Lestrade, Sherlock rocks his hips to grind against the pinned Inspector.

Hands fumble with zippers, hastily trying to free as much flesh as possible in their current position. Sherlock's mouth crashes against Lestrade's, it's a bruising kiss, a mixture of teeth gnashing and fighting for control.

A brush of a thumb along one of Sherlock's cheekbones causes the younger man to gasp giving Lestrade the opening to seize control. He trails his tongue over Sherlock's now kiss swollen bottom lip before pushing into the slightly parted mouth.

They're necking like teenagers on that armchair, Sherlock's rutting becoming slightly more erratic, desperate, as he rolls his hips against Lestrade.

Lestrade moves his hand from the nape of Sherlock's neck to grip both their members. It's been a while since he's done this and his first stroke is sloppy at best, but both of them are too lost in the endorphin frenzy to notice.

Hand moving in faster, more efficient strokes, Lestrade moves his kisses along Sherlock's jaw, down his neck, settling just above the detective's collarbone.

Back arching Sherlock bucks into Lestrade's hand, a breathy moan passing his lips as teeth drag along his skin. Fingers' digging into Lestrade's shoulders, fisting the thin cotton shirt, Sherlock comes hard, coating Lestrade's hand.

Dropping his hand to wrap along with Lestrade's fingers, Sherlock runs his thumb over the sensitive head before tightening his grip and giving a few measure strokes.

Breath catching in his throat, Lestrade bucks his hips upwards cumming across Sherlock's stomach.

Slouching to rest his head on Lestrade's shoulder, Sherlock lightly traces patterns along the ruffled sleeve.

Arm wrapping around Sherlock to hold him in place Lestrade murmurs "what was that for?"

Nuzzling closer a yawn escapes Sherlock before he answers in return "the news was boring."


	3. Wall

**3. Wall**

Lestrade knows Sherlock is waiting inside even before he opens the door to his flat. The lock has been picked, yet again, and briefly Lestrade thinks it's time to sit Sherlock down and let him know that a B&E is not necessary when he has a key.

He shakes his head at the thought. He already knows the answer that will follow: "Boring!"

Pushing open the door, the name Sherlock still on the tip of his tongue, Lestrade soon finds the door behind him being slammed shut as his back connects with the solid wood frame.

Sherlock kisses him soundly cutting off any remarks, but if Lestrade's being honest, he doesn't have enough blood flowing in his brain to even attempt a remark let along a coherent sentence

Nimble fingers make quick work of his belt, moving quickly to work on the zipper next. Pants dropping unceremoniously, they're left to pool in a heap around Lestrade's feet on the floor. Lightly cool fingers work their way under the boxer band, slowly rolling down the fabric, pulling them down until they join the pants on the floor.

Moving to a kneeling position, Sherlock teasingly licks a strip along Lestrade's shaft, moving from tip to base. Pulling back he lightly grazes his teeth over the sensitive member, settling back at the tip to swirl his tongue across the head, lapping greedily at the precum that had already begun to gather.

Lestrade hisses as Sherlock suddenly surges forward, swallowing him to the hilt in one fluid motion. Hips bucking forward on their own accord, Lestrade let out an inarticulate moan that caught in the back of his throat.

Fingers winding their way through Sherlock's curls, Lestrade gave a experimental tug earning him a soft mixture of a moan and a whimper to emanate from Sherlock's mouth.

Moaning around Lestrade's cock, Sherlock revels in the way the Inspector seemed to come undone, his head lulling to the side, blissful smile stretching across his face, his fingers loosening their grip on his curls to trail a knuckle across his cheek in a soothing, loving, fashion.

An airy "fuck" falls past Lestrade's lips as he rocks forward into Sherlock's mouth, so warm, so perfect.

Grey eyes focused upwards, cataloging every movement, a sigh, a moan, the feel of muscles twitching expectantly under his hands, committing everything to memory. Long black eyelashes flutter slightly at a particular rough thrust. That mouth; lips swollen, now a raw shade of red, coated in a mixture of saliva and precum, oh so beautiful.

Sherlock laps at the underside of Lestrade's cock making the Inspector wonder if he even has a gag reflex, but the thought quickly leaves his mind as Sherlock increases the vibrations and twirls his tongue just so over the tip.

"Sher-lock I'm-" the words die on Lestrade's lips. He tenses briefly before his climax takes over and he's spurting his seed into Sherlock's mouth crying out in pleasure.

Hand diving into his pants, Sherlock gives a few skilled strokes before cumming, coating his fingers as well as the floor where he's kneeling. Pulling back to rest on his heels, Sherlock runs his tongue over his bottom lip, making a show of licking up any missed cum as he watches Lestrade.

Entire body tingling from the aftershocks of his climax, Lestrade feels his legs turn to rubber. Sliding down the door, he leans his head to rest against the wood eyes closing in ecstasy.

"Come 'ere," he murmurs opening an eye to look at Sherlock as he motions for him.

Crawling forward to press against Lestrade's chest, Sherlock waits until both of their breathing has returned to a normal rate before he remarks "you need a better set of locks Inspector."


	4. Kitchen Table

**A/N:** so this chapter got away from me very quickly...still I think it turned out fairly well :)

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><p><strong>4. Kitchen Table<strong>

Lestrade groaned at the feel of heels digging into his lower back, but continued to rock his hip forward, thrusting into Sherlock who eagerly greeted each movement with his own downward thrust. Vaguely in the back of his mind the Inspector wondered how it was they had gone from making breakfast to christening the table. Oh yes, that's right, blame it on the rain.

Eyes blinking open Lestrade turned to his left seeing Sherlock was very much dead to the world, body tangled up in a mess of sheets, his face pressed into the pillows, curls wildly strewn in every direction, lightly snoring. Smiling fondly Lestrade very quietly moved to retrieve his boxers, pulling them on as he left to the kitchen to get a start on breakfast.

The sounds of rain pattering against the window filled the room, and Lestrade was very thankful that today was his day off. He was determined to have a lazy day, enjoy a warm breakfast, and perhaps watch some crap TV, curled up on the couch with Sherlock, if he was lucky enough to persuade the git in staying still long enough.

Running a hand through his sleep mused hair Lestrade made his way into the kitchen, bare feet padding across linoleum, as he opened the fridge rooting around for eggs. Shivering involuntarily at the feel of cool air against his skin he gave a small noise of victory at locating the eggs.

The rain continued to pound against the window, a steady sound in the quiet room.

Setting aside the eggs on the counter, Lestrade moved to grab a pan from the lower cabinet on the left of the oven.

A low whistle from behind caused him to quickly turn around, pan hanging by his side. Smiling at the sight of Sherlock, clad in one of his white button ups leaning against the entrance leading between the kitchen and living room, sporting his best come hither look, Lestrade placed the pan on the counter to cross his arms over his chest.

Quirking an eyebrow Lestrade nodded towards Sherlock "wasn't expecting you up anytime soon."

"Oh, don't mind me Inspector, just enjoying the view," he replied smirking softly.

"That so," Lestrade responded as he turned back around to busy himself with the task of cooking eggs.

5…4…3…

The feel of two sinewy arms wrapping around his waist came sooner than Lestrade was expecting, but they were welcomed all the same.

Curls rubbing against his cheek a low murmur of "mmm quite right," filled his ears as Sherlock dipped his head to brush his lips at the base of his neck. "I do enjoy a good view," he spoke again, warm breath soft against Lestrade's skin.

Cracking an egg Lestrade chuckled. "Flattery will get you everywhere," he said while disposing of the now empty shell.

Lightly nipping at Lestrade's earlobe, Sherlock quipped "I'm counting on that," as he dipped a hand below the thin boxers airily drifting his fingers over Lestrade's cock, which gave an interested twitch.

"Oi, what did I tell you about doing that while I'm cooking? The last thing I need on my day off is to deal with burns to my nether-regions because _someone_ gets particularly handsy in the early morning."

Huffing out in dismay, Sherlock reluctantly withdrew his hand moving before unwinding himself from his hold on Lestrade. "Fine," he spoke tersely, "well what can I do instead?"

Looking over his shoulder, Lestrade nodded in the direction of the table "well for starters, you can clear that table."

Sherlock sighed as he turned to the table, which was currently half taken over by case files, honestly he didn't understand what the big fuss was; the other half of the table was free after all. Rather than walking around the table, Sherlock leaned across the top grabbing for the files.

The sound of a frustrated grunt floated towards Lestrade, and the Inspector chanced a look to see what Sherlock had gotten up to. Breath catching in his throat at the sight that greeted him, Lestrade swallowed nervously. The world's only consulting detective was currently leaning against the table, rather across, standing on his tip toes to reach for a file that was dangling half off the table. The position caused the tails of his button up to raise slightly higher, ending just above his mid-thigh, leaving the barest hint of pale flesh to peek out from underneath.

Reaching to turn off the dial, Lestrade turned around, leaning against the counter, he hesitantly asked "Sherlock, are you wearing any underwear?"

The bastard turned over his shoulder; file in hand, grey eyes shining innocently as he shook his head no "is that going to be a problem Inspector?"

"Fuck, Sherlock-"

"Yes please," he cut in grinning wildly as he turned around fully to face Lestrade. He leaned back against the table, hands behind him to balance, legs spread wide, his left resting against the leg of one chair, a devious smile flitting across his lips.

Lestrade was across the length of the kitchen in three steps, one hand trailing up Sherlock's leg, the other cupping his cheek. Thumb rubbing across those ridiculously pouty lips Lestrade wet his lips before speaking, voice a little huskier, "do you just spend all day thinking of ways to tease me?"

Sherlock laughed "is it working?"

In answer, Lestrade bowed his head to meet Sherlock's lips in a breath stealing, mind numbing, demanding kiss. Tongue pushing in to explore the mouth under his grasp, Lestrade pulled back slightly "does that answer your question?"

Leaning forward to reciprocate, Sherlock hooked his legs around Lestrade's waist pulling him closer as he looped his arms behind the Inspector's neck. Lightly biting at Lestrade's bottom lip, Sherlock rocked his hips forward "well, don't tell me all my work was in vain…"

"We don't have any lube," Lestrade muttered, voice sounding strained as Sherlock ground against his cock.

"Taken care of," Sherlock smiled grabbing one of Lestrade's hands and guiding it to his already slicked entrance.

"Jesus," Lestrade breathed out as he circled his finger over Sherlock's entrance before pressing in to the second knuckle. "You've got everything covered haven't you?" Lestrade didn't wait for an answer, just worked a second finger in along the first, crooking them, he received a gasp from Sherlock who tightened his hold on Lestrade's waist.

Scissoring his finger Lestrade added a third, delighting in the half moan half whine that fell from Sherlock's lips. Pulling out his fingers, Sherlock whimpered at the loss, "Just fuck me." Lestrade didn't need to be told twice, pushing down his boxers with his other hand; he lined himself up to Sherlock's entrance.

Pushing in, in one fluid motion he hissed at the feeling of Sherlock surrounding him. Leaning forward he met those beautiful pouty lips in a hungry kiss. Long finger wound their way through his hair and he moaned into the pliant mouth beneath his as he pulled out only to thrust back in, deep, slow, angling at just the right spot.

Sherlock's grasp on his hair tightened, almost to the point of pain, but Lestrade bucked his hips again, and the hold loosened, moving to pull Lestrade's head down for another greedy kiss. Thin legs wrapped around Lestrade, thighs pressed tight against hips, heels digging into his back, they establish a pace; slow and hard, so utterly perfect.

A particular colorful combination of: "fu-ck yes. God, Greg, harder, fuck, please," brings Lestrade back to the present. One hand gripping Sherlock's waist, he grabs for Sherlock's free hand with his other one, winding their fingers together above his head on the table. Thrusting in deeper he drops his head to Sherlock's neck, biting at the collar bone.

Moving his hand from Sherlock's hip he grips his cock, that's until now remained between them utterly neglected. Sherlock hisses as Lestrade runs his finger over the tip, smearing pre-cum down his oversensitive prick. Added lubrication, Lestrade works his hand over Sherlock's cock with ease, hips rocking forward he quickens his strokes.

Sherlock's hips bucked upwards into the warm hand, back arching off the table as Lestrade's next thrust brushed against that sensitive bundle of nerves. It was all too much and Sherlock let out a choked off cry as he came, spilling into Lestrade's hand.

The feel of Sherlock clamping around him was enough to do Lestrade in, he followed suit, lazily thrusting as he rode out his orgasm. Running his thumb across the top of Sherlock's knuckles he leaned forward pressing a soft kiss to those red tinted kiss bruised lips.

Legs slowly unwrapped themselves from Lestrade's waist, dropping to the floor on either side of the Inspector's legs. Slipping out Lestrade pulled his boxers back up, turning to look at the long forgotten stove.

"I think," he started slowly turning back to face Sherlock. "The eggs have gone cold," he continued a hint of laughter woven in between the words.

Sitting up to look at Lestrade, Sherlock, appearing rather thoroughly fucked, replied "screw the eggs, let's go back to bed, we can order take out."

Lestrade grinned reaching for Sherlock's hand, "lead the way."

As Sherlock slinked back to the bedroom Lestrade had one thought on his mind: God bless the rain.


	5. Floor

**A/N:** Another lengthy chapter, up next is the 1 time they actually made it to a bed. Alas this fic is coming to an end, I'm a little saddened, I didn't even think about it until halfway through this, but I should have done shower!sex..perhaps I will cover that in a stand alone fic..at a later time, I have Avengers and X-Men fics to finish.

But enjoy this, Review=LOVE

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><p>5. Floor<p>

Leaned up against the couch, Sherlock allowed his head to rest against the cushion giving a soft hum at the feel of fingers working their way through his curls to massage his scalp. Lestrade sat on the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, one hand affectionately ruffling an unruly head of curls, the other holding a book propped on his lap.

"Unless you can make the world wag better than it does at present, King, your reign will be an endless series of petty battles," the tenor of Lestrade's voice rang out through the living room as he continued to read.

Opening an eye open as the hand moved from his head, Sherlock gave a small whine looking up at Lestrade accusingly.

"Turning the page," Lestrade mumbled before weaving his fingers back through Sherlock's inky locks. "No need to get your knickers in a knot," he chides.

Eyes narrow a fraction for the briefest of moments, and then the barest of smiles moved across Sherlock's face as he turned to face Lestrade. Bringing a hand to the spine of the book, Sherlock closed the book pulling it out of Lestrade's grasp. Tossing it to the opposite end of the couch, he cocked his head to the side smiling more widely at Lestrade.

Raising an eyebrow at Sherlock, Lestrade licks his bottom lip opening his mouth to shoot off a question when he's suddenly pulled down by his neck in to a searing kiss. Caught off balance by the hand pressed against the back of his neck, Lestrade tumbles over the side of the couch with a graceless "oof". Pulling back from the kiss so that he's hovering above Sherlock, an arm on either side of the younger man's head to brace himself, Lestrade smirks.

"And what was that for you git?"

Biting his bottom lip Sherlock ran his fingers along the nape of Lestrade's neck. Moving one of his legs between Lestrade's parted thighs; Sherlock rubbed his knee against the other man's groin delighting in the moan it elicited.

"Isn't it obvious Inspector?"

Ducking his head Lestrade buries his nose in the crook of Sherlock's neck, lightly grazing his teeth along the exposed flesh he mumbles "quite, but really Sherlock, the floor?"

And in one quick motion Sherlock has linked his legs with Lestrade's moving an arm to the Inspector's waist as he gives a quick turn, effectively reversing their positions so that he's straddling Lestrade's hips. Grinning as he wriggles his hips, Sherlock darts his hand under the middle cushion procuring a bottle of lube.

Waving the tube in front of Lestrade's face Sherlock gives a laugh "it's carpeted, besides, we have everything here."

Lestrade sighs but makes no move to push Sherlock off; rather he rests his hands on the young detective's thighs absently tracing his fingers over ivory skin.

"You've plan this haven't you?"

Sherlock's smile widens, "I haven't the faintest idea what you're implying."

Lestrade laughs "oi, don't play coy, pull the other one Sherlock."

Bending over to press his chest against Lestrade, Sherlock bends his head down so his mouth is level with the Detective Inspector's ear and whispers in as sultry a tone as he can muster "I'll do all the work, you just sit back and relax."

Lestrade swallows shifting his eyes to look at Sherlock warily, he can't deny that just the sound of the man's baritone, sounding somehow deeper, if that were even possible, ringing in his ear has got him already semi-hard.

Left hand creeping higher until he's got a handful of that tight arse, Lestrade grins, "Well, what'd you have in mind?"

Unscrewing the top of the lube, Sherlock lifted his hips to pull his boxers down around his knees as he poured a liberal amount coating three fingers. Bringing his hand behind him, he pushed one finger in, making a show as he worked the digit in and out. Adding a second finger, he begins to scissor, his breathing becoming shallower as he rocks back on the coated digits.

Lestrade looks up in awe as the younger man adds a third finger, twisting his wrist, giving a gasp as he crooks his fingers. If Lestrade wasn't so turned on by the sight of Sherlock rocking back on his own hand, head tilted backwards, air coming out in tiny huffs as he moaned softly, he would worry that the young man had an exhibitionist kink of some sort. Though, he was just as equally as, if not more so, hard as Sherlock, so did that mean he shared this kink? This was definitely new to him; he'd never thought he was one for-

"Shut up." It's not a curt response like he commonly uses at crime scenes, there's a breathy quality to it, and it would seem more convincing if the grey eyes that were pinning him under their stare weren't glazed over in a look of lust, pupils darkening in desire.

The corners of Lestrade's lips quirk upwards as he pushes his boxers down "I didn't say anything."

A grunt, and then "you were thinking," a whimper as fingers are removed followed by "It's annoying," as he sinks down on Lestrade's cock hissing slightly as he's stretched.

"You a mind reader now," Lestrade gasps out.

Sherlock lets out a breath smiling down at Lestrade, "only yours."

Hands reaching up to grip Sherlock's waist, Lestrade runs his thumbs across the skin just under Sherlock's navel. Head cocking to the left Lestrade smirks "oh really? Well now, what am I thinking at this very moment?"

Rising up Sherlock grinds down slowly earning a pleasure filled groan from Lestrade. Then smiling coyly, the bastard, replied "did I get it right Inspector?"

Lestrade bucked his hips upwards in response.

"Tut, tut," Sherlock chastised waggling a finger at Lestrade. "I said I'd do all the work."

Before Lestrade can even get a word out Sherlock is moving again, agonizingly slow, for once, grinding against the pinned Inspector. _He's enjoying this_, Lestrade thinks briefly, _enjoying torturing me_.

As if he can read Lestrade's mind, Sherlock picks up his pace riding rather enthusiastically on Lestrade's cock. Head thrown back to expose that slender neck, Sherlock lets out a moan as he places a hand on Lestrade's sternum to brace himself.

Fingers tightening their grip on Sherlock's hips, Lestrade is almost certain finger shaped bruises will mar the pale flesh in the morning. The image excites him, the thought of that perfect torso marked, by him.

Sherlock grips the front of Lestrade's shirt in his hand, back arching as he moves to try a different angle. The new angle causes a strained whine to fall past his lips at the brush across his prostate. Hand coming to grip his swollen member, Sherlock runs his thumb over the head smearing pre-cum down his shaft for better lubrication.

Arching into his strokes, Sherlock rocks into his hand uttering a broken "fu- Greg."

Lestrade's grip tightens on Sherlock's hips, as Sherlock's pace becomes erratic. The young detective stills, his body clenching as a throaty moan rips itself from his mouth and he spills his seed across Lestrade's abdomen.

The feel of Sherlock clenching around him sends Lestrade over and he's softly cursing as his hips buck upwards cumming in choked gasps. He's surrounded by white as his orgasm washes over him, his mind silent, only registering the ragged breathing of the man above him who has collapsed, pressing their chest together.

Breath mingling Sherlock is content to simply lie atop Lestrade, ear pressed against the other's chest, listening to the steady heartbeat beneath. Craning his head upwards he places a soft kiss to Lestrade's jaw before settling back down, relaxing at the feel of warm breath against his forehead and the sound of a heart beating beneath his cheek.


	6. Lestrade's Bed

+1. Lestrade's Bed

Lestrade had long since given up on trying to drag Sherlock to bed at a seemingly reasonable hour, but that by no means meant he couldn't turn in early. He did after all deserve the rest after today's events.

It'd been a long day, filled with menial paperwork, made even longer by the fact that Sherlock was bored. There had been no new cases in nearly a week, and a bored Sherlock was a bad thing for everyone.

A bored Sherlock tended to play havoc on the flat's drains with his constant experimentations, a bored Sherlock was partial to upheaving perishables from the fridge in favor of housing various severed body parts each at varying levels of decomposition, and on one memorable occasion, a heart, non-human he'd assured, as if that improved matters, in a jar of brine. Lestrade was still trying to figure out just what type of experiment called for that, but he had a feeling he'd rather not find out the reasoning.

This particular evening when Lestrade returned to the flat, he wasn't surprised in the least bit to find Sherlock bent over the kitchen table minding an off colored test tube; it was just one of those evenings.

Too tired to even attempt finding a suitable meal, Lestrade opened the fridge suppressing the shudder at the margarine container filled with human nails and reaching for the leftover container of Chinese food at the back. Grabbing a fork, he made his way to the living room, knowing Sherlock would not welcome any intrusion to his work, and instead flipped on the telly to BBC1.

Lowering the volume he pulled his legs up on the couch, opening the container of cold Chinese food and spearing a piece of broccoli. Save the low murmuring of Stephen Fry pouring out from the speakers as QI continued, the rest of the flat remained quiet.

Relinquishing the now empty container, Lestrade stretched out on the sofa casually flipping channels until coming across Goldfinger. Settling in against the cushions so he could find a comfortable position, Lestrade dared to raise the volume two notches, casting a glance over his shoulder to see that Sherlock was not disturbed.

The day's burden began to wear down on him, and soon Lestrade found his eyes drooping shut, and not even Sean Connery could manage to keep him from feeling the pull of sleep. Standing up from the couch, Lestrade clicked off the telly throwing the remote to the couch as he yawned, stretching his arms out. Back giving a loud pop he yawned once more dragging his hand through his hair before turning to the bedroom.

"Do try and clean up when you're done Sherlock," he mumbled, voice laced with sleep.

He didn't bother mentioning that Sherlock should get to bed too, that he'd been keeping erratic hours this entire week, and if there was a case tomorrow, he'd likely be of little use if he couldn't keep his eyes open long enough to observe. They'd had this conversation on numerous occasions, it was futile to even try and bring it up again. Both men were too stubborn to back down, and neither of them was willing to compromise on this matter, so they remained in perpetual stalemate. Sherlock would continue on with his choice of sleeping, or lack thereof, habits, and Lestrade would keep quite but give him that knowing look when he handed over a cup of coffee at the next scene.

Crawling in to bed, Lestrade pulled the covers up to his chin, burrowing in the warmth provided. No sooner did his head hit the pillow, were his eyes slipping shut as darkness surrounded him and sleep over took hold.

Sherlock sighed looking up at the clock over the fridge; 2:15. Eyeing the tube in hand that now shone a brilliant blue, he shook his head grabbing a discarded pen and scrawling '_brother_' on a dish napkin before striding over to the sink to dispose of the liquid.

Rinsing out the various test tubes he turned them over in the dish drain before wiping his hands on the towel hanging off the oven. The chairs remained pushed out and numerous papers as well as his laptop still cluttered the table, but the chemicals had been disposed of properly so he considered his area thoroughly cleaned. Turning off the light to the kitchen he began unbuttoning his shirt as he walked down the hallway to the bedroom. It was going to be an early night after all.

Standing in the doorway, Sherlock paused in his movements, taking time to simply watch Lestrade's huddled form. Back to the door, the Inspector had instinctively fallen asleep curled in a ball leaving Sherlock's customary side open.

Stripping his shirt off, Sherlock unbuckled his pants stepping out of them quickly, leaving them to pool on the floor. Quietly he took a step into the room, careful not to wake up the sleeping Inspector. Shuffling across the floor, his heart nearly stopped when he bumped one of Lestrade's discarded shoes, sending a loud clunk through the room.

Blinking open a bleary eye Lestrade smiled at Sherlock, who looked like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Looking at the alarm clock, and the red numbers that glared back at him, Lestrade simply pulled back the covers motioning Sherlock to get in bed.

Quickly scurrying under the covers, Sherlock shifted closer to Lestrade, curling into the body heat radiating off the older man. Burying his head in the crook of Lestrade's neck Sherlock lightly began kissing, trailing his tongue lazily over the Inspector's jaw line.

"You're in bed early," Lestrade murmured as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's lithe frame.

Sherlock didn't respond, least not right away, instead he moved his tongue's ministrations up Lestrade's jaw nipping playfully at his earlobe before whispering "time's just relative."

Lestrade hummed in agreement, dipping a hand below the band of Sherlock's boxers, lightly stroking the small of his back.

Rocking his hips forward Sherlock grazed his teeth along Lestrade's neck moving down his collar bone. "'sides, the experiment turned out to be dreadfully boring." Fingers trailed up Lestrade's arm, an airy touch leaving goosebumps in its wake.

"That so," Lestrade mumbled as he dipped his hand further down circling a finger over Sherlock's entrance teasingly.

Pushing back against the finger, eagerly seeking out penetration, Sherlock nodded. In between fervent kisses, Sherlock managed to get out a hushed "far more interesting here," and as if to punctuate that statement, he craned his head up to place a sloppy kiss on Lestrade's lips.

Kissing back lazily, Lestrade moaned out against Sherlock's mouth "turn 'round."

Rolling over so his back was pressed against Lestrade's chest, Sherlock gave a teasing wriggle of his hips to grind against Lestrade's quickly hardening member.

Placing a kiss to the back of Sherlock's neck, Lestrade brought his hand to Sherlock's entrance, gently nudging a finger inside. Leisurely he worked the digit in smiling against Sherlock's shoulder as the younger detective moved back against the finger groaning softly. Easing in a second finger, Lestrade nipped at Sherlock's neck, teasing his tongue over irritated flesh while he fucked Sherlock with his fingers.

"Fuck me." Sherlock's voice has a breathy quality to it, there's an undercurrent of impatience, and even though Lestrade enjoyed feeling the man writher beneath him while he thrusts his fingers into him, mindful to keep him longing by just grazing his prostate, he pulls out anyway, moving to line up with Sherlock's entrance.

Pushing in slowly, Lestrade wraps his arms around Sherlock's waist pulling him flush against his body. Burying his head into the unruly curls he breathes in the scent that's all Sherlock, a mixture of musk and soap, as he murmurs against the base of Sherlock's neck "what's the word?"

There's an impatient groan at the back of Sherlock's throat, but then Lestrade is biting down on Sherlock's shoulder moving his hand to trail across the skin just below Sherlock's navel causing the young man to arch back moaning out "please! God, please Greg. Fuck me."

Grinning, Lestrade begins to rock his hips against Sherlock. It's a languid pace, but each thrust is deep, finding their mark, if Sherlock's low moans are anything to go by.

Rocking back following Lestrade's rhythm, Sherlock leans his head back to rest on Lestrade's shoulder. Eyes fluttering shut, his breath came out in soft huffs an occasional whine passing through those pouty lips.

The room is filled with the sounds of moans and panting breaths, the soft creak of the bed as Lestrade's rocking begins to quicken. Hand trailing down Sherlock's abdomen, Lestrade takes the man's swollen member in his hand brushing his thumb over the sensitive head.

Sherlock gasps "Fuck, Greg," bucking forward instinctively into Lestrade's hand as the man begins to stroke him in time with each new thrust.

Lestrade felt his release take over, his hips grinding against Sherlock, muffling his cry in the crook of Sherlock's neck. A few more strokes and Sherlock was following suit, spilling across Lestrade's fist and his stomach.

Left in darkness, silence save their ragged breathing, Sherlock made the first move, grabbing for a hand full of tissues by the dresser. Cleaning himself up he turned around to face Lestrade brushing his lips softly over Lestrade's before settling with his head to rest on the man's shoulder.

Lestrade ran his thumb over the small of Sherlock's back placing a kiss to the top of his head, allowing his eyes to slip shut once more. Just before sleep over came him completely, a murmured "_far_ more interesting indeed," greeted his ears.

"Go to sleep, you git," Lestrade mumbled in return before yawning.

The sound of soft breathing greeted him in response, and this time when sleep laid its persuasive hand over Lestrade, he followed willingly, a small smile on his face.


End file.
